


Deus Infirma

by atlastitfalls



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Body Worship, Clay | Dream is DreamXD (Video Blogging RPF), Dacryphilia, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Smut, Forest Sex, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Pining Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sort of????, Voice Kink, as in it has its own energy that it kind of shares with george, fae!george, god!dream, he's a god idk if it counts as DreamXD, if you look for it, no beta we die like wilbur in l'manburg, please dont have sex in forests, the forest is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlastitfalls/pseuds/atlastitfalls
Summary: In which George is a Faerie, and Dream is a God wrapped around his pinkie finger.George is a forest Nymph living in his forest when a careless God disrupts the energy he's shared with the forest for so long, leading him to learn to share it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 262





	Deus Infirma

**Author's Note:**

> This is fiction based on Dream and Georges personas. Should they say they aren't okay with anything portrayed here, I'll take it down.

The sound of sticks breaking underneath footsteps echoes throughout the forest, deep verdant leaves and lush growth surrounding and brushing through the soft brown of messy hair. The boy reaches his hand up, brushing it through and sending a few stray leaves spiraling towards the mossy floor. He stills, leaning down and sitting atop a rock to the side of his own-made path. He reaches for a blooming forget me not, pale fingers gently tracing along the baby blue petals. The energy of it flows through the light touch, while the hum of the forest travels throughout his body, breathing with him,  _ living _ through him. He revels in it. Basking in the light still remaining from sunset, gold auras of light dancing over his eyes as they flutter shut. 

He leans back and the grassy floor catches him, it cradles him, protecting the protector. After all, spending a dozen lifetimes of living among forest nymphs and other Fae protecting their home, who is the forest to not give some care in return? 

He sighs as he feels the energy flow through him, massaging his tired arms and resting aching bones. He feels his consciousness drift away from his grasp, giving into the tempting lull of sleep. He doesn’t need to, of course, a Fae is far too busy to spend their time needing something as trivial and human as sleep. But occasionally, when the sun is low, the morning dew has dried, and the forest rests, so does he. He lets dreams overtake him, memories of running alongside the other Faeries when he was younger, childlike carelessness and freedom overtaking him.

He misses that sometimes.

A rustling awakens him. Footsteps sound from where they shouldn't, far too heavy to be any wildlife and too careless to be a nymph. It disturbs the forest, anxieties replacing previous calm and the chitter of bugs rising in volume. In the symphony of united panic the forest yells to him,  _ someone is here who shouldn’t be. _ He tries to contain his anger, both with himself and his carelessness and whoever disturbed the homeland, but he fails to stop it from seeping off him. His emotions impact the forest enough to cause the small critters to scamper urgently away from his path and the bugs burrow back down into the dirt. He walks with purpose and authority in his footsteps, making his presence  _ known _ and  _ commanding _ . 

This is  _ his _ forest, and to intrude is of other levels of disrespect.

Who does this person think they are, walking around and disrupting peace like they own the place, with enough arrogance to challenge a God?

He turns around the side of a tree, slowing down his pace and leaning his weight behind him in case the disruption turns violent and he needs to leave. Instead of whatever he may have been expecting, his eyes meet the curious green ones of another boy who is currently frozen in place, but had obviously been planning on picking more flowers based on his bundle of other flora in his closed fist. The boy smiles sheepishly, bringing his free hand up to comb through dirty blond hair, soft waves parting between big hands before falling back in front of his eyes, breaking their gazes upon each other. The blond boy glances guiltily down at his bundle of picked flowers and the other watches as he tries to hide them behind his back. 

“You  _ do _ realize I just watched you hide those, right?” The Fae asks incredulously, simultaneously shocked and disappointed by the idiocy of the boy he is faced with. Instead of giving an answer, his eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, staring in shock. The boy furrows his brow, confused by the sudden reaction. 

  
“Are you okay?” He briefly wonders why he even cares, this  _ is _ still the same person who intruded on his forest with no regard to respect. This boy interrupted the forest's harmony,  _ his _ forest’s harmony, and yet he still cares. 

“I,” The blond hesitates, tumbling over his words. “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just  _ fuck _ , your  _ voice _ .” He slaps his hand over his mouth, dropping forgotten flowers as he turns bright red and looks anywhere but at the other. 

“Uh, thank you?” He’s momentarily caught off guard, wondering what’s so notable about his voice to so drastically affect the other boy, but brushes off the compliment, and continues. “Why are you in my forest? And stealing, while you’re here?” He gestures to the flowers scattered on the ground, the petals already wilting. He suppresses a wince as he feels them dying, a slight change in the energy around him shifting. It may be miniscule, just a few flowers, but he feels it all.

“Uhm, I was bored?” The blond’s tone makes it seem more like a question then a response. 

“And you decided to come into  _ my _ forest and kill  _ my _ flowers?” He feels anger boil under his skin, the sun peaking through the trees heating up to reflect it. How childish must he be to decide that he gets to take the lives of the forest's growth? 

“Woah woah, what do you mean yours? You don’t own the forest,” He chuckles. “Tell you what, give me one good reason why I should leave  _ your _ forest then.” The brunet can feel himself being mocked. First he intrudes, he steals, and he mocks him? The audacity and cockyness fog his head, thoughts of rash ideas flowing to mind. He pushes them aside and tries to  _ not _ resort to violence, however tempting it may be. Instead, a hint of a smile works its way onto his face, an idea already setting into motion. He closes his eyes, and calls to the forest. He calls to the Fae, to himself, and shows a part of him that even  _ he  _ hasn’t seen in a long time. He reopens his eyes, focusing his gaze directly at the other. Thin, slitted pupils meet round scared ones, before he closes his eyes and they flash back to a familiar shape. The fear doesn’t leave the other boy's eyes, however.

  
The blond's face falls immediately. “Oh, shit, fuck, fuck, I fucked up didn’t I?” He fidgets his hands nervously, taking steps back. “Tell me I didn’t just mock a  _ fucking Fae. _ I’m a fucking moron. Why don’t I  _ think?” _

“Unfortunately, I don’t particularly enjoy lying. I can agree on the moron bit, however.”

His face pales further, stepping back again and tripping over a tree root. His back hits a tree and the Faes figure looms over him, looking down, watching, waiting. “Listen, I’m really sorry, I, I had no idea, really, I-” The boy cuts him off.

“I’ll forgive you, but you have to give me something in return.”

“I don’t have anything on me...” He trails off, voice wavering in uncertainty.   
“Oh no, I don’t need anything physical. How about,” He looks up, considering. “Your name?” 

The forest reacts.

The creatures go silent, listening intently, wanting to know what the outcome will be. The flowers recoil at the tone in his voice, bordering on glee at the idea of taking something from someone so clueless and unknowing. It’s not a fair fight in the slightest..

He knows that.

“Oh, that’s easy, I’m Dream.” The blond,  _ Dream, _ seems relieved, but the others' smile dissipates and is replaced with a frown. 

“I didn’t ask for a nickname.” Frustration curls around his words.

“No, it’s not a nickname- fuck, my dad is Morpheus. He wasn’t too creative with my name.” The name shocks realization into the boy. It makes sense, the arrogance, the careless disrespect, of course  _ Dream _ had the blood of a God.

“You’re a fucking demigod?”

Dream huffs a laugh. “Full God, technically, my mom’s Iris.” 

“You’re a  _ full God _ ?” Frustration is replaced with confusion and exasperation, the forest agreeing with him this time. Why would a God be afraid of a Fae, of all creatures? He decides to ask as much. “Why are you afraid of me? I’m just a Fae and you’re a  _ God,  _ yet you’re the one sitting here looking like he’s going to piss himself.”

Dream absentmindedly notes that he  _ is  _ sitting, how he got that way unbeknownst to him, but he looks up and the brown haired boy is standing right over him, sunlight illuminating his eyes, one blue and one a similar green to the moss under his hands. 

“You’re pretty.”

“What the fuck?” The compliment, just like the one before, comes out of nowhere and shocks him just as much. The forest is giddy under his feet, enjoying itself in his embarrassment. He bites back a comment of how the forest should  _ not be amused right now _ before it can slip off his tongue.

“I take it back. Gorgeous. That fits better. Did you know you have two different coloured eyes? I wasn’t sure, you don’t exactly seem to have a mirror nearby.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Are you not paying attention?”

“I,” He’s at a loss for words. He pleads silently for the forest to help him, to get him out of whatever mess this is, and the forest answers.

A mouse runs over his foot, causing Dream to flinch and sending the boy falling over into him. That is not what he meant, the forest knows that, and he hears the wind shake the bushes, rustling like laughter.

“Fuck!” He isn't sure if he’s yelling from the pain of tangled limbs, or at the forest. Likely both. The forest, of course, enjoys this. “Like a goddamn child.” He mutters.

“What was that?”

Fuck. Right. Dream. He still needs to deal with that.

“You-, you-, god!” He groans in frustration.

“That I am!” He seems proud of himself for the comment, and the boy sneers. He pushes himself away, untangling Dreams long legs from his own, and leans back against a tree  _ away _ from Dream. 

“Shut up. You need to leave.”

“Aw, why?” Dream pouts. The boy drops his head in his hands already regretting having slept and yet wanting to go back to it still.

“You’re a nuisance. You come here and disrupt everything, make my life harder,  _ and  _ you kill my forget me nots.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry about the flowers, alright? I mean, aren’t those ones a weed anyway? Why does it matter?” George chooses to ignore the comment of them being a weed, and instead offers an explanation and the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m colorblind. Blue flowers are the ones I can see clearest.” He looks over at the sound of a muffled wheeze.

“You’re a Fae, and you’re colorblind? How does that even work?”

“I’m not  _ blind _ blind, I can still see, you moron.” To prove his point he tosses a rock at Dream, hitting him square in the shoulder. Dream yelps out in pain and sends another stone flying back that the boy avoids with ease. As he goes to pick up another, Dream's voice interrupts him.

“Hey, truce! Truce!” He lowers the rock, and as soon as his fingers brush the ground an ant bites him, a scolding from the forest. He angrily rubs the bite, thinking about how he knows full well that  _ Dream started it _ but bites his tongue. 

The sun is setting, warm yellow and gold turning to deep purples and oranges, casting the last of the day's shadows across the both of them. Dream turns, the light catching on his hair and making it seem like it sparkles with the glow. “Can I ask you something?

“I won’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

Dream ignores him and continues. “What’s your name? I’ve told you mine, it’s only fair.”

“That depends which one you want to know.” 

“What do you mean, which one?” Dream inquires. He’s given an inch and pulls for two more, and the boy lets him. He thinks he’d let Dream pull a mile if he tried. 

He doesn’t quite know why.

“I go by many. You know Fae and Nymph, of course.”

“Not those names. I want  _ yours. _ ”

“I still have many of those.” The boy is still looking at the ground, tracing patterns in the moss and watching small fungi grow in his trails. It startles him when he feels warm hands, calloused but gentle, cup his face and tilt it up, his eyes meeting Dreams. The light from the sun is now gone and no longer illuminating his face, but he’s close enough to not need it. He could count the freckles on Dreams face like he imagines Dream could count the stars littering the night sky. 

“I want to know your favourite name. I want to know the one that’s really  _ you _ , something I can call you that feels familiar even when my voice is new to you, a name I can think of and remember this.” 

The boy hesitates, but answers.

“I’m George.”

“George,” Dream echoes, his voice coated with attraction. It tempts George.

He gives in.

They pull each other together, neither sure of who initiated what. Their lips move in rhythm, matching the beat of the life of the forest that is positively  _ flourishing _ within George. He wonders if Dream can feel it too.

“I can, I can, I can feel it George,  _ fuck _ ,” Dream is breathless when he speaks, face flushed and panting. George reaches a hand up, and pushes Dream back against the tree, and climbing into his lap, his legs encasing the others hips. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Dream does the same, the bark of the trees scratches his back painfully but he doesn’t _ care _ . He can feel the life of the trees and the grass go through wherever it touches, he can feel  _ George _ ’s energy through him. Their lips meet again and they flow together, they rock and breathe together, connected with each other and the forest in a way that makes George's stomach heat with emotions he’s never felt before, much less emotions he’s shared. 

The life of the forest is hot,  _ hot _ , it burns him, Dream’s touch burns him, crimson hands tracing paths along his body and leaving heat in their wake, it’s all too much and just enough at the same time. 

“ _ Dream, _ ” He pleads, and who is Dream to refuse? 

They move themselves forward, tangling legs making it difficult but they manage to lie with George’s back against the soft mossy ground and Dream leaning over him.

“George,” Dream whispers, pressing deep kisses into his neck, biting marks and leaving bruises to show that George is  _ his _ , he’s  _ George’s, _ and the forest is  _ both of them together _ .

“Let me worship you, you deserve it, please, George, I need to,” Dream asks between kisses, hating to pull away and separate their lips but desperately needing an answer.

“Asking to worship  _ me, _ coming from a God. You’re ironic Dream, you know.”

“Please George, just for now, let me not be.”

“ _ Deus infirma.”  _ The words sound like they’re coated in honey, sweet and dripping as they roll off George's tongue. Dream doesn’t know what he’s saying but he knows it’s an answer, and he’s entranced by it. He lets the words guide him lower, undoing the buttons and palming George through his boxers. A breathy moan leaves him, and Dream quickly decides it’s the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, and he’d do anything to hear more. 

“What does that mean?”

“What?” George barely speaks, more breathing the words, too much in bliss to fully register what Dream said. 

“What you said, what did it mean?”

“ _ Deus infirma _ ?” Dream nods but George doesn’t see it, shutting his eyes and letting another moan escape him when Dream presses harder with his hand. “It means  _ weakened God _ in Latin. It reminds me of you.”

Dream doesn’t respond, instead reaching underneath Georges boxers and gripping him firmer. He slides his thumb over a vein before swiping over the head, causing Georges hips to jerk up and a louder moan to leave his throat, 

“ _ Fuck! Dream, please _ ,” George doesn’t know what he’s begging for, he just knows he needs more. Tears prick up behind his eyelids, threatening to spill over. Dream moans at the sight and George rocks his hips up again, his thigh rutting against Dreams erection still confined in his pants. George removes one hand from its grip on Dream shoulder to snake it down into Dreams pants, stroking slowly up the length of his cock. The hand on his own cock slows its movements momentarily but quickly resumes when he whines, high and needy. Another swipe of Dreams thumb over the head of his cock, so hard it’s almost painful, sends the hot tears spilling over George's cheeks. Dream kisses them, and George can taste the salty flavour coating his lips when he kisses him again. 

George sobs again, his body begging for release. He tightens his hand on an upstroke and Dream comes, sticky release coating George's hand and stomach. Dream stops his movements, shuddering breaths ghosting Georges neck. He pants for a moment, catching his breath before continuing again and gripping George's cock harder while speeding up.

“You know, you control me George.” George doesn't respond, his weeping cock leaking a bit of precum onto his stomach. “I may be a God, but it’s not about power or titles.”

George can feel new tears flowing down his face, trailing over where the other dried. It’s all so much, Dream, the forest, the energy, all the feelings coming so close to tipping him over the edge but  _ not quite _ . “Why?” He manages to choke out before his voice breaks with another moan.

“It’s  _ you _ . You could choose to bend me to your every will and whim and I  _ would _ . I’d take apart entire worlds and put them back together again, all for you. Do you really think I just showed up here because I was bored?”

“But why me?” He looks into Dreams eyes, and sees such earnest and affection it nearly breaks him.

“Because I love you, George.” 

The words tip him over the edge, his vision goes white as come covers Dream's hand and his stomach.

Dream rolls over and the two lay beside each other, coming down from their highs and staring at the stars illuminating them.

“Did you mean what you said?” George's voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Did you?” Dream counters instead of responding.

“What?” George sounds genuinely confused and Dream pities him.

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“Dream, no, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear.” Dream can feel George's guilt through the remains of the forest within them both and forgives him. Not that he blamed him of anything in the first place, to be fair. “You aren’t weak.”

“Then I meant what I said too.” Dream turns to look at George, catching sight of his exhaustion filled eyes, eyelids drooping and struggling to stay open. As Dream watches George close his eyes and hide the blue and green he’s come to adore, he closes his own.

“ _ Te quoque amo _ .”

He lets sleep pull him with thoughts of George, of their rhythm, of their silent dance together and their united energy.

He dreams of the forest.


End file.
